ADA

Standing in the crowd of photographers and fans gathered outside the Met is like lighting the fuse of a firework and waiting for the detonation. Everyone's so caught up in the hype of seeing the Cipher actors they've thrown the rulebook for basic human decency out the window. The paps shove their way through the mass of people, jockeying for the best angles. The fans are just as assertive as they try to maneuver into prime selfie-taking position.

Agnes said I had to make this convincing, so I thought calling Liam my boyfriend on social media would help. I wasn't wrong. My post certainly kindled the rumors about our relationship. But Liam's comment set them into an all-out blaze. The social media alerts started coming in so fast that I thought my phone was going to literally blow up. And when I saw the number of followers on my accounts, I almost blacked out. The idea of so many people knowing who I am and seeing the pictures I take, I can't wrap my mind around it.

"You know these people are going to lose their shit the second your boyfriend shows his face, right?" Chrissy says, scanning the crowd. She's standing almost uncomfortably close to me in the swell of people, but personal space is a sacrifice I'm willing to make. We got here early and managed to score ourselves a prime spot. I'm not moving.

"It's going to be chaos," I say, elbowing the guy behind me, trying to make him back off. His sweat-soaked, hairy arm keeps brushing against my back. It's icking me out big time. I drop my voice. "And you know he isn't really my boyfriend."

"What's all that about him taking his clothes off for you in private, then?"

"Shhhh," I hiss.

The last thing I need is for the rest of the paps to figure out who I am and start snapping pictures of Liam and me. One of Huntley's photographers needs to sell the shots if I'm going to get points. Since Chrissy's the closest one, it'll have to be her. I didn't just brand myself with a phony relationship status for nothing. I'm already dreading having to explain that one to my parents.

My eyes scan the crowd, but no one's paying me any attention. There's got to be fifty other paps out here. Two of them are pushing each other, fighting for a place at the front of the pack. A security guard gets between them before they come to blows.

I didn't think being a paparazzo would be all flashbulbs and rainbows, but I have to admit, I didn't realize it would be this intense. It'll all be worth it when I get to do what I love for a living, though.

"You're gonna need to get these shots and get them to Agnes ASAP if we have any chance of selling them," I say to Chrissy. "These guys aren't playing around."

"We? What are you—" Chrissy starts but gets cut off as the horde jostles forward, knocking her into me. The security guards gesture for us to back up. We shove backward against them, reclaiming our positions. "What do you mean we?" she asks.

"Agnes didn't tell you?" I thought Agnes would've mentioned our deal to the other interns, but apparently, she left that to me. Crap. I hadn't thought about how they'd react. I doubt they'll love the idea of me getting points for their pictures.

"Tell me what?" Chrissy asks.

"I made a deal with Agnes. She's going to give me points for any shots Huntley sells of Liam and me together."

Chrissy doesn't say anything for a beat. When I dare to glance up at her, she's studying me, eyes narrowed. "That explains your post, then," she says flatly.

"I figured if any agency was going to make money off these rumors, it should be Huntley," I explain. "And Agnes thinks Liam's hiding something. She wants me to try and spend time with him, so I can help her expose it."

Chrissy's expression clears, and she nods. "It does seem strange that he's posing for pictures with you. What's that about?"

"I have no idea, but I need to figure it out." A strand of damp hair falls into my face, and I push it behind my ear.

"That's exactly why I wanted to get into this business," Chrissy says. "To uncover all these celebrities' dirty secrets and reveal them to the people who worship them like they're freaking gods." Her expression turns serious. "My little sister was hospitalized last year for an eating disorder. She said she wanted to be as thin as the movie stars she saw in magazines. I'm going to show everyone what these people really are. They're dangerous."

"That's awful. I'm so sorry." My heart breaks for Chrissy and what her family must have gone through.

I know celebrities and the media set an impossible and dangerous beauty standard. But it's also a vicious cycle because consumers then reinforce that standard when we buy magazines or click links with headlines that disparage someone's weight and appearance. Which in turn, makes celebrities feel pressured to try and maintain such unhealthy weights.

I also know that by being a photographer, I'll be contributing to the problem. It's such a deeply-ingrained issue in our society that I don't know what I can do to stop it. But looking at the pain etched across Chrissy's face, I know I want to try.

"We've got to tell everybody the truth about them," Chrissy says.

"Right." I nod, even though that's never been my motivation before. I wanted to show the world the sparkly lives of the stars and let them experience a little of that magic through my pictures. Chrissy has a point. But I've also felt conflicted, even guilty, since my meeting with Agnes.

If Liam is hiding something nefarious or problematic, then isn't it my responsibility to help reveal that, so he can be held accountable? Or is it unethical for me to intentionally violate his privacy? My mind swims with the complexity of these issues, but before I can begin to sort out my feelings, someone in the sea of bodies shouts, "It's them!"

It's like they dropped a boulder in a wading pool. Everyone begins screaming as waves of pandemonium ripple outward, catching us in their wake. The crowd rushes forward. It's all I can do to stay on my feet. I brace my legs and hold on.

"Faye! Ariani! Over here!" the man standing next to me yells so loudly my ear rings. I lean forward, trying to get a shot off as Faye Donovan and Ariani Shahzad make their way down the line of fans and photographers, stopping to pose for selfies and sign autographs. Exhilaration washes over me like dust falling from a shooting star.

"Liam!" The guy beside me hollers, bellowing in my ear again. I flinch. Seriously? I wonder if all photogs are this rude or if it's just the ones here tonight.

Liam's standing just past Ariani and Faye talking with a little girl, who looks to be about seven. He's stooped down, smiling at her, lips quirked in this charmingly lopsided grin. He signs a large, rectangular piece of paper the girl probably tore out of a coloring book. There's no trace of the arrogant, patronizing jerk I've had the displeasure of meeting. If I didn't know better, I might mistake him for an actual human being. I take the shot.

Something bashes against my lens, and my Nikon smacks into my nose. My eyes flood, and pain throbs through my head. A body slams into me from behind, and I stumble, almost losing my footing.

Chrissy's hand wraps around my arm, steadying me. "Are you okay?"

I nod. Tears stream down my smarting face as I whirl around. Hairy-Arms is practically on top of me, his long lens positioned in the spot my head was only seconds ago. That must be what hit me. Sweat stains bloom across his shirt, and he smells like he showered in drugstore cologne before leaving the house. He's zeroed in on Ariani and Faye and doesn't spare me a glance, let alone apologize.

"Excuse you." Chrissy's glare is red-hot as she steps directly in front of his lens. "Did you not notice that you just hit my friend in the face?"

"Outta the way, toots." His voice drips with condescension as he tries to step around us. "I'm with The Trib."

Chrissy looks at me, shaking her head in disgust. What a chauvinist ass.

"Then you should've been here earlier, so 'The Trib' could've gotten decent photos." I step closer to Chrissy, so we're shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the guy out. He blinks at me like he can't believe we're not letting him pass.

"Listen, cupcake—" he says, jabbing his meaty finger at me.

"My name isn't Cupcake or Toots, for that matter. And we aren't moving."

The guy's jowls quiver as he stares me down. Then he turns, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he tries to push through the mob.

"Can you believe that guy?" Chrissy watches as he barrels toward a group of fangirls who don't budge an inch for him.

"Such a slimeball." I shake my head and go to check if the actors are within shooting range. But as I turn around, I stop short, gasping and fumbling my camera in surprise. It slips through my fingers, and I let out a grunt as it bangs into my stomach, catching on the strap around my neck.

Liam Anders is standing directly in front of me. "You just make friends wherever you go, don't you?" Liam says, jerking his thumb in the direction the guy stormed off in.

He's wearing the same white shirt and pair of jeans from the other day. In the incessant flashing lights, I can make out a small scar cutting across his chin that I've never noticed before. I haven't seen it on the show. They must cover it with makeup. I don't know why they would, though. Somehow the tiny imperfection makes him even more handsome, which is inexplicably irritating.

I look over at Chrissy. Her lens is aimed at both of us. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was worried she wouldn't play along after she found out I'd be getting points for these shots too. I'm sure the money she'll make on them would be hard to pass up, though.

"Actually," I force a sugary smile. "I'm a very friendly person when I'm not surrounded by jackasses."

"Right. I've heard having no respect for other people's privacy is a real crowd pleaser."

"Oh, calm down, James Dean."

Liam scoffs. "Wow. Way to cut me deep there."

I lean in closer to him. "There are millions of girls in this city. Why have your picture taken with me?"

"Well, I doubt any of those other girls would look as good covered in green juice," Liam says, loud enough for everyone in our vicinity to hear, then winks at me.

He's performing for the photographers again. I know that. But that wink—it has my stomach doing somersaults.

"Did he say green juice? Wait! Is she the girl from the pictures?" Someone shouts from behind me. I close my eyes, bracing myself. Like dominoes falling one by one, everyone realizes who I am.

"That's her?"

"Is that Liam's girlfriend?"

"He's dating that girl?"

Chrissy's camera isn't the only one trained on me anymore. I suddenly have a newfound empathy for any insect under a microscope. I wonder if this is how celebs feel day in and day out with the paparazzi following them. Suddenly, Liam's comment about me not respecting his privacy hits different.

Having the eyes and attention of all these people is suffocating. I can hardly breathe through the anxiety building in my chest. But then I think about Chrissy's sister. How much privacy should someone with a platform like Liam's have? If he's going to set an example for millions of people, don't those same people have the right to know if that example is positive? What's more important, privacy or accountability? I don't know. I can't think. Not with an anxiety attack threatening to drown me.

When I look up at Liam, though, my panic hardens into frosty anger. He has a hand clamped over his mouth like he's trying to hide a laugh. His shoulders are shaking. Clearly, he's enjoying my discomfort.

"How's it feel to be on the other side of the lens for a change?" he asks.

I step toward him so we're only inches apart. "What's your game here, Superstar?"

"What's yours, Ace?"

We stare each other down. My heart is pounding, whether from irritation, panic, or something else, I don't know.

"Liam, is that your girlfriend?" someone yells.

A smile twists Liam's lips as he calls back, "No comment." He stares me dead in the eyes as he says it like it's some kind of challenge.

I want to tell everyone here what a liar he is and wipe the smug grin off his face. But I can't. Not without admitting that I'm a liar too. And not without wrecking the deal I made with Agnes and my best chance at securing my dream job.

The crowd presses in. They stand on tiptoes, trying to catch a peek at me. The mob was intimidating before, but now it feels like I'm being buried alive. My palms are sweating, and my fingers tremble against my Nikon. I glance in the direction I saw Faye and Ariani earlier. I haven't gotten any shots of them, but there's no way I'll be able to with all these people surrounding me.

The fear must register on my face because when I look back at Liam, he isn't laughing anymore. Something else flickers in his eyes. Pity.

It only pisses me off more. This is all his fault. If he didn't have to open his big mouth, I could've taken my shots and left without anyone figuring out who I am. And Chrissy definitely won't be the only person with photos of the two of us together now.

"You're such a jerk," I scowl at him, raising my camera so it's inches from his face. I snap a picture, and the flash explodes in his eyes.

He reels back, blinking.

"Ma'am, you need to leave." The bodyguard with the long, red mustache steps forward. I hadn't noticed him out here in all the pandemonium.

"I was already going." I shoot Liam one last withering glare before turning away. I shove through the mass of paparazzi swarming around me, feeling more confused than I can ever remember being.